


The New Apprentice

by SHolmes2000



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 1. NO SPOILERS HERE, 2. THIS WONT NECESSARILY BE UP TO DATE WITH THE SHOW, 3. DONT SPOIL ANYTHING PLS, F/F, Gen, I LOVE MRS HUDSON, I haven't seen S4 yet so, Multiple chapters, PLEASE LEAVE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISMS, This is gonna be an experiment, Will be adding more things the longer I go, also chapter get longer as it progresses i swear, okay yeah anyway, this is my first fic for this fandom, what happens when????
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-06 13:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10336082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHolmes2000/pseuds/SHolmes2000
Summary: Scarlett is the youngest daughter of an old army friend of John's. What happens when someone much like a younger, more people orientated Sherlock, becomes Sherlock's new trainee?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading I hope you enjoy. This is my first true attempt at a multi chaptered fic and my first contribution to this fandom. Please leave comments! I welcome as much constructive criticism as I can possibly get.

                The plane hit turbulence as we began to descend. I unplugged my phone charger from the outlet attached to my seat and stuffed it into my carryon. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I unintentionally woke the young lady leaning on my shoulder. She blushed and sheepishly muttered something. I shook my head, pulled my headphones out, turning off my phone. “I didn’t hear you, I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”

                She avoided my eyes, “I said thank you. And I’m extremely sorry for falling asleep on you.” Her accent was blatant. Probably returning home from vacation.

                “Don’t worry about it, I fell asleep, too.” I tried to ease her embarrassment. “Besides, if our seats were switched, I would’ve probably fallen asleep on you too.” She giggled slightly at my statement as I smiled, proud to have made a stranger a smile a bit. The overhead speaker blared to life as the attendant announced that we would be landing soon. The knot in my stomach tightened suddenly as I realized how anxious I was.

                I was coming into London from a twelve-hour flight from Austin. I came because I was able to convince my father to allow and help me take a break before college. He reached out to see if I could stay with my Uncle John. I mean, he wasn’t truly my uncle, but him and my father were stationed together twice in Afghanistan. They became extremely close. “As close as brothers” they always said. Uncle John came to visit us about six years ago, when he had gotten out of the warzone. He had originally come to visit his sister, but he’d stopped by for a day or so before he left. He had gotten married recently, and they had welcomed the thought of me coming to stay. So here I was.

                The plane started to touch down, and the young lady went to grip the armrest, but I guess, with way her eyes were forced shut, she didn’t realize my hand was already there. She gripped my hand for dear life as the plane rocked fiercely back and forth. I didn’t pull away until she had evened her breathing. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked. She nodded in response, eyes still closed shut. She let go of my hand and went to work grabbing her stuff. It was then when I realized how young she was, likely around my age. I wanted to write my email or phone number down, but stopped when I realized how weird that might seem.

                I collected my things and walked off the plane. Trying my best, as I’m not too tall, to see over the heads of the business men and tourists, I spotted him with a woman. She was slightly shorter than him, blonde with short hair, also extremely pregnant. They had a small sign with my name on it. I headed towards them. As soon as they saw me they smiled, and started waving. I sat down my luggage, and hugged him. Afterwards I turned to the woman, “Hello. I’m Scarlett.” I introduced myself. She introduced herself as Mary. “Would you be comfortable with me hugging you? Or would you prefer a hug?” I asked.

                “Of course not, sweetheart!” She said and embraced me. We chatted a bit on the way down to baggage claim. As I came back from grabbing my suitcase, Mary pointed across the room, teasing “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer.” It was the girl from the plane. I smiled and waved, she mouthed back ‘Thank you!’. I responded with a nod.

                I waved goodbye, as Mary and I went to find Uncle John as he pulled the car around. I began to try and put my suitcase in the back myself, but was shooed away as Uncle John did it himself. We climbed in the car and had started toward their apartment, when a ringer went off. Uncle John pulled his phone from his pocket and answered it. “Hello? Yes… Again?!?... Of course… yeah, hold on.” Turning to me he asked, “Scarlett, would you mind if we took a detour?”

                “No, of course not. The jet-lag hasn’t hit me yet and currently I’m just glad to be off that stuffy plane.” I responded. He sighed and gave a look to his wife. She must’ve understood what it meant because she just muttered a curse. They turned around and headed back towards downtown. This was the most irritated I had ever seen Uncle John.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarlett actually meets Sherlock. Also argues with him slightly.

The engine just barely cut off in front of Speedy’s Sandwich Bar and Café when Uncle John jumped out of the car and stomped inside the door labelled 221B. Mary turned to me, “You can come upstairs as well if you’d like. You can meet Mrs. Hudson then.” She then muttered something under her breathe that sounded like maybe Holmes, too. She got out of the car, carefully, and walked a few paces. Turning back around, she beckoned me to follow. “Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.” I thought aloud while stepping out of the door. I trailed behind her inside the door, straightening the knocker as I passed.  
I entered just behind her, into a small foyer that transitioned straight into a set of stairs. Faint voices screamed from the room at the top. A small, older woman was coming down the stairs. “Hello Mary, darling. They’re really going at it this time, aren’t they?” She said, shaking her head, “Oh, Hello. Who are you?” The woman addressed me.  
“Oh, Sorry.” I refocused. “Hello. I’m Scarlett. I’m visiting Uncle John from out of town.” I introduced myself, stretching my arm out. “And you would be Mrs. Hudson, I presume?” She nodded and shook my hand. “Mary mentioned you in the car.” She smiled wider in response and led us up the stairs.

When we got to the second floor the shouting match had long since heightened in volume. I was the last into the room, walking past the doorway just as Uncle John yelled a response at the sulking, curly haired man, “Where are they, Sherlock? You promised that you would quit! Where did you put them?!?” The curly man, Sherlock I would assume, sat curled up in a sort of fetal position in the blue cushioned chair across the room. From the slight yellowing of his finger nails I would assume they were yelling about cigarettes, but the fact that the man was scratching at the inside of his arm, probably suggests needle marks, which would propose something worse.  
“I told you already. I don’t have any.” The dark-haired man replied, rolling his eyes. I stood behind Mary as his eyes caught the doorway. He looked closely at me and started to stand. He was taller than Uncle John, but not so that when you looked at him that was the first thing that came to mind. He was dressed in a robe with a white t-shirt and pajama pants, which swung around his feet and dragged along the floor from being slightly too long. “Besides,” he gestured to me, “it looks like we have client.”  
Uncle John turned to look at me, and shook at his head, “No, Sherlock, we don’t. This is my niece, Scarlett.” His voice dripped with frustration and agitation.  
“Hello.” I waved awkwardly, “Why are you yelling?” On the bright side, I wasn’t the only one confused, because if Sherlock’s expression was anything to go by, he was pretty surprised, too.   
“Your uncle was just accusing me of smoking. Again. He knows I quit.” Sherlock replied, glancing between us. “You never said you had a niece. You don’t look alike.” He complained.  
“You never asked. She the daughter of one of my war buddies.” John countered. I sat in the chair across from Sherlock as John, Mary and Mrs. Hudson searched through the rooms. I looked at Sherlock as he continued to study me. He was tired, hadn’t slept in a number of days. His hair was untidy, either didn’t care or was too busy. Dress shoes littered the floor by the couch, he must usually wear business-like clothes. I was suddenly aware of Uncle John and Mary having a heated discussion in the kitchen behind me.  
“You aren’t really his niece.” Sherlock stated.  
“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.” I disputed. “As long as John sees me as family and I see him as such, we are. Just how you two are brothers.” The two behind me stopped their discussion and had listened to my answer. Sherlock was speechless. Apparently, no one had fought with his ideals before. Except probably Uncle John.  
“Scarlett, this completely your choice,” Uncle John started pointedly ignoring Sherlock’s concerned glare. “But there is a- “  
“Would you like to stay here instead of the small guest bedroom at our place? You would have more room in the bedroom upstairs, you wouldn’t have to just stay with us all the time, and it would probably be helpful for all of us if there was someone here with Sherlock, other than Mrs. Hudson.” Mary interrupted. I thought carefully. And by carefully, I mean rashly, quickly, and optimistically.  
“I guess it would be more reasonable to stay here. Do I need to help with rent or…?” I trailed off hesitantly.   
“No, no, of course not! I’ll just have the deal I had with him before. When you moved in, John.” Mrs. Hudson cut-off excitedly.  
“Okay, I’ll stay here then.” I decided. Living on my own, I thought. Finally. Sherlock curled back up in the seat, turning his back to everyone, mumbling. I stood, and before walking out the door to the stairs, I turned. “By the way,” I whispered to Uncle John next to me, “The cigarettes are in an inside pocket in his black coat hanging next to the door.” John marched to the jacket and riffled through it, pulling out a box of lights and a lighter. Sherlock glared at me intently.  
“Well,” Uncle John chuckled. “You certainly have improved since last time I saw you.” I smiled at the praise. John snickered at Sherlock’s confused glare. I continued out the door to go grab my luggage.  
 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scarlett actually talks to Sherlock alone

                The carpet of the room was dusty, much like the small bookshelf and dresser in the corner and the desk by the window. I sat in front of the dresser, putting off away my luggage after getting back from “bonding” with Mary when I heard gunshots in the living room. I grabbed the small 9mm from the inside of my underwear drawer, and cautiously made my way down to the living room.

Careful to make no sound, I stopped outside the door and peeked inside the room, seeing only Sherlock slumped in his chair, turned towards the couch and shooting at a hastily spray-painted smiley face. I returned my gun to my waistband, pressed up against my back, and pulled my shirt over it.

I calmly walked into the room, simply greeted Sherlock “Hey.” I received only a grunt in response. I left him to his business and walked into the kitchen. While the kettle was easily found, the teabags and sugar were buried under all the clutter. I searched through papers, case files, body parts and finally found them behind a skull in a cupboard. After cleaning two mugs, I filled them with steaming chamomile tea and put a heaping spoonful of sugar into each of them.

Placing one next to Sherlock, I sat down in the discarded chair I pulled next to him. The chair was facing the fireplace, with a small wooden table in between the two chair’s armrests. Sherlock eyed the tea I had given him. “I didn’t poison it, you know.” I said pointedly. “I’m too curious about you to do so.” He still looked suspicious, so I set mine down and grabbed his. I took a sip of it and handed it back him. “See?”

Finally believing me, he sipped it and set down his drink. “So, remind me again why you are here?” He asked.

“I graduated high school a little earlier than expected, but I’ve gotten accepted into a great college in my same area as I’ve lived for most of my life. I asked for time off to travel before I settled down and got back to my studies. So, I made a deal with Dad and then Uncle John that I could come here for a change of scenery until a week before the fall semester, if I stay where Uncle John, or somewhere he can monitor, and I stay busy, whether it be writing, or exploring, or working. I can’t be here just to run away.” I explained. Sherlock nodded along to my story.

“So, you’re a writer? Blogger like your uncle or author?” He prompted.

“I prefer to write stories to blogging, but I dabble in that too. Both, I guess.” I replied. “What about you, Shirley? What do you do?”

“I’m a consulting detective, the only one in the world. Don’t call me Shirley.” He retorted begrudgingly.

“So, a private detective that also consults with the police?” I clarified.

“Yes, I- “The rest of his sentence was cut short by a notification from his phone. He got excited from what it said because he hurriedly jumped from his seat and ran to his room. When he came out, less than five seconds later, he was dressed in a white button-up shirt and a pair of black slacks. Called that, I mused to myself. He went to get his long coat and his shoes, when he turned to me. One shoe in hand and opened jacket, scarf resting around his neck, he asked “How do you feel about murder?”

“Why do you ask?” I questioned, smirking into my mug.

“Well, as much as Mary is right, I won’t tell her that. I could use your help. Would you to?”

“Give me two minutes.” I replied, already running up the stairs to my room. I grabbed my leather jacket, stuffing my handgun into the inside jacket pocket, I threw on a dark red scarf and some dark red lipstick and pulled on my worn knee-high black boots. I pulled my phone off the charger and tossed it into my pocket along with a pair of headphones.

Sherlock met me outside with a taxi waiting on the curb. He opened my door and got in after I had scooted over, he crawled in after me and gave the directions to the crime scene.


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crime scene. Deduction time!!!

                We arrived to the scene on the bank of the river. As I followed Sherlock up to the police tape, a woman with curly brown hair stopped me. “Well, well, Freak. Who’s this?” She asked. “Where’s your usual colleague? John?”

                “I’m actually John’s niece. Scarlett.” I went to shake her hand.

                “Donovan.” She replied shaking my hand. “Oh, so now you’ve somehow gotten yourself another colleague?” She teased at Sherlock, lifting the tape for us to go under.

                “Why do you call him a freak?” I inquired. It sounded quite rude. As far as I’ve seen the only freakish thing he’s done is keep body parts next to moldy take out in the fridge. At least keep them on a different shelf, seriously!

                “Have you seen him do his thing?” She replied, simply. I shook my head. “Then you’ll see.” She turned and said something to the taller man behind her dressed in a forensic suit. She pointed to me while she talked and I did my best to ignore them.

                I turned my back to them and toward Sherlock, who was examining the body. The clouds from my mind faded away as I focused. I vaguely remember the man Donovan was talking to introduce himself to me while handing me a pair of gloves. My subconscious took over, placing them over my hands properly. I crouched closer to the body trying to find anything that might help. Sherlock brought me along for a reason, after all.

                I ran my fingers along the John Doe’s coat. It was wet. Glancing at the soles of his shoes, there was no mud on them. The edge of the victim’s wrists peeking out from the sleeves were dotted with skin sores created from his own scratching, a discovery from the gathering of skin under his nails. The stab wound on his abdomen coupled with the lack of blood around him, the lack of necessary organs targeted, and the lack of blood on the body would suggest that this wound was not the cause of death. A ring of tender flesh, practically bruised wound around his neck. I looked at the body, a well-built, younger male, approximately 6’2” and 194 pounds, but probably early to mid-thirties.

                “Well? What do you see?” prompted Sherlock, pulling me from my thoughts. I gave him a questioning look. “Humor me.”

                Rolling my eyes, I began, “Well, it has been raining and his jacket is wet, but there is no mud on the bottom of his shoes. This, along with the lack of an umbrella and the level of rigor mortis leads me to believe this happened after the rainstorm this afternoon. Although the wound in his abdomen would advise that he was killed from being stabbed, but the lack of blood anywhere and the location of the wound concludes differently. In fact, I would propose that he asphyxiated at a different scene then moved here. Anyone with half a brain would be able to concur that because even postmortem, a stab in the side would still produce more blood than what we see here.

                I would also like to point out the sore on his wrist, and what I would assume would be needle scars on the inner elbow, if I were to check.” I grabbed one of his arms, waiting to be stopped. When no one did, I pushed the sleeve up to show the aforementioned marks. Continuing, “According to the expensive suit I would say he is a businessman, but if he is, he isn’t a very wealthy one. The slacks have frayed bottoms and it has been slightly tightened from his weight loss due to his methamphetamine addiction. There are just a few things bugging me.” I began to count them off using my fingers. “One, where is his phone? This is a man living in the twenty-first century with a drug habit. He would carry his phone around everywhere. Two, this couldn’t’ve been a robbery, his ring which appears to be made of white gold, is still on his finger, polished, too. So, where is his wallet? Three, he obviously wasn’t killed here, but there isn’t dragging marks anywhere around and no tread marks coming from the street. But, lastly…” I stopped. “That can wait,” I whispered. “But who is he?” I asked.

                Suddenly, I became increasingly aware of everyone’s gaping-mouthed stares. The only person that was not staring at me was examining the ground. “Where’s the phone?” he yelled. Sherlock caught my eye, nodded in the approval of my assessments, and continued to shout about the phone. Someone, maybe twenty steps away from the body, found it and held it up. Sherlock snatched the phone away quickly and went through the man’s phone. After the supposed-genius had gotten what he needed he tossed me the phone. Emails and call history was empty. The messages were very few. The victim’s boss, his wife and daughter, and someone labelled simply “X”.

                “X is his dealer. He was still using.” I whispered. Sherlock looked away hastily and flagged down a taxi. I opened his internet and found him still logged into his social media. His Facebook profile read “Clark Masters”. Sherlock got into the cab and I followed him.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft and Cleaning. Sherlock crashes, Scarlett cashes.

                Silence fell between us as we pass through the city. It was past one in the morning by the time I was able to take a shower. Sherlock sat still, staring at the wall. “What are you thinking about?” I asked on my way through the kitchen.

                “Something about the crime scene was off. I don’t know what it was.” He replied. He stood up and grabbed a violin that was leaning up against the window sill. He started playing. I got back into my room and was on my way to my desk when my phone started to ring.

`               “Downstairs.” The voice said. Not a question, a command. Curiosity made me comply cautiously. Slipping on my boots again, I walked down the stairs. My heartbeat pulsed, making me increasingly aware of the small pistol in the back of my waistband. I peered out the glass window on the front door and watched a black car pull up. “Get in.” The voice called through the phone. The dial tone sounded as the person on the other end hung up. I walked out the door and climbed into the car.

                “What’s next? A blindfold?” I said sarcastically to the girl across the back seat.

                “Unnecessary.” She replied. As soon as I closed the door the car pulled away. The tint on the car in the backseat was too dark to see in or out unless it was daylight. A government car most likely. High ranking officials one, too. I couldn’t tell where we were but that didn’t matter as I was only in it for five minutes, tops. I got out of the car as it stopped, into an empty parking lot. The street lamps flickered overhead. A man, older, suited, receding hairline with a black umbrella stood waiting for me. Federal job and mid to late forties. He smiled only out of politeness.

                “Scarlett Lance.” He sing-songed, “It is nice to finally meet you. John’s family and past has always been a sort of interest. I see that Sherlock has yet another flat mate, as well. We would like your help. I would like you help. We are prepared to offer you a large sum of money to keep us updated on Sherlock.”

                “We? The British Government? Or you, his older brother?” I accused.

                “Both.”

                “So you want me to spy on him?”

                “Not necessarily spy- “He began to deny.

                “Yes.” I interrupted. He looked surprised. I felt that he wouldn't understand so I clarified. “You are obviously worried about him. Also telling from your facial features, you truly are his brother. I have older siblings and I understand how it feels to have someone consistently be there and worry about you. I also understand why. On the up side, I wouldn't have to figure out resumes for a summer job here and I don't think Sherlock gets paid.”

                He nodded a hint of triumph in his eyes. I stopped and reconsidered my stance. “Although, if you believe I will tell you every single thing, you will be severely disappointed. I will tell you what I believe you need to know for Sherlock’s safety and my own sanity.” I continued. He thought for a second, then nodded.

“Deal.” He said curtly.

I started towards the car to go back to Baker Street but I turned around after opening the door. “You know my name, but I am unaware of yours. Care to introduce yourself?”

“Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes.”

“Thank you, Mycroft.” I said. I got into the car and headed back home.

 

As I walked through the flat, I found Sherlock asleep, slumped in his chair, violin hanging from his fingertips. I called John to check in. “Just leave him there, he usually finds his way into his own bed and he’ll wake up at about noon tomorrow.”

“Uncle John? Did you get contacted by Sherlock’s older brother when you moved in?” I asked.

“Ah, Mycroft got to you already. Well, congrats. Did he offer you a deal?” John teased. I made a noise of affirmation. “Did you take it?” I didn't answer. “Scarlett! You didn't!”

“Well… I did. I could use the money for groceries and such. Besides, I warned him that I won't tell him everything just what he needs to know. The Holmes brothers are a mess in general. And I've only just met them! At least this way everyone can have their minds at ease. You, Mary, and Mycroft don't need to worry about him being alone and doing something stupid, and Sherlock will have a helper of sorts, an apprentice if you will.” I defended. My uncle chuckled.

“Well you certainly thought it out better than I did. Sherlock even told me when I got back that I should've taken it. You should probably get to bed. It’s late and if you don’t get any sleep, your parents will kill me.”

“I’ll try. Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.” John said. I hung up and went to my room. Taking off my shoes, I placed my revolver between my headboard and mattress. The laptop heated my legs as I opened my email up.

****

**_“Dad,_ **

**_I made it just fine. Tell Alice to stop worrying. I can feel her mother-ness from here. I love her as my stepmother, but I’M FINE. Anyway, I’ve already been set up in a good apartment, a source of income, and got a new… partner in crime. That’s what you’d say at least. He’s a lot like me. Not my type though. And he’s waaay older than me anyway, so don’t go getting any ideas about this. I love you._ **

**_The self-appointed and undisputed Queen of the world,_ **

**_Lettie”_ **

****

                I turned off my computer, plugged it in next to my phone, and rolled over to try and sleep. But my insomnia decided to act up. By 3:54, according to my phone, I had given up. I descended into the kitchen and set to work. It had been just over two hours from when I tried to go to sleep, approximately 4:30 am, when Sherlock practically sleep-walked back into his own room and collapsed.

                I washed the dishes, threw out all the expired food, wipe down the counters and fridge. I cleaned off the kitchen table, organizing the papers of research and stacking it neatly to file it away later. I swept and mopped the tiles before moving on to the bathroom to clean it, and then the living room. I dusted, put the violin and music back onto the corresponding stands, got the table-turned-desk cleared and organized, and when the light could be seen over the horizon, I vacuumed.

I was in the midst of making coffee when the door began to creak open. I cautiously reached for the gun Sherlock left about, and looked over my shoulder into the living room. Mrs. Hudson was struggling with the door as she tried to open it with a try of tea in her arms.

                Sighing I grabbed the try from her arms, “Mrs. Hudson! You scared the ever-living hell out of me. What are doing bring tea up here, anyway?” I asked. “I thought you were his landlady, not his housekeeper.”

                With a slight laugh she responded, shaking her head, “With him, I feel more like a mother. I never had any children of my own, but he’s truly still a child inside.” She looked around. “You cleaned? Where’d you put his body parts that he like to keep? I never know what to do with those?”

                “Yes ma’am. Was I not supposed to? I just do it when I can’t sleep. It usually helps me think and get nervous anxiety out. I kinda do it more subconsciously more than anything. I just kinda left them where they were. After all, he puts them there for a reason, right?” I paused, “I’m sorry; I ramble a lot. How long does he normally crash like this?” I inquired.

                “Usually for a little while. I think the longest was a whole day, but then again he had been up for almost a complete week.” She replied, pouring me a cup of the still hot tea. I sat down and beckoned her to as well.

                “How long has he been up this time?”

                “I think this time had been around the same amount of time, but a little less.” We sipped tea in quiet for a little while.

                As she stood up, I quizzed again, “So I when should I expect him up?”

                “Not for a while, dear. You should probably get some rest, since you’ve been cleaning all night.”

                “I think I will, but not for a little while. I want to watch the sun finish rising first.” And you know, stock the apartment with real food. And see if I can talk to a few people. And try to help move the case along. I wasn’t ready to sleep. Not just yet.

                Mrs. Hudson just nodded knowingly and left, closing the door quietly behind her as to not disturb my train of thought. The tea was cold now. And it was almost 6:30 and the sun had finished rising ten minutes ago. I reached for my phone from across the table and called Mycroft.

                “Hello?” A female voice answered.

                “Hello, I’m looking for Mycroft Holmes. I have some information for him.” I replied.

                “Yes, of course. Please hold for moment.” There was some shuffling and then Mycroft came on the line. “Mycroft.” He announced.

                “It’s Scarlett. So apparently, Sherlock hasn’t slept in almost a week. The fridge was full of moldy take out as well, so I doubt he has been eating very much. He had crashed by the time I got home last night and finally got into his bed by 4:30 ish this morning. And I had a couple questions. First, do I need to get a permit or something to carry a firearm? And also, what about the money?” I reported.

                “The lack of sleep wasn’t much news, but thank you for it nonetheless. And the sums promised have already been transferred into your account. I’ll take care of everything with your father’s gun also.”

                “Thank you. And one last thing: where is the closest grocery store?” I inquired.

                “Down the street and to your left. Word of advice, do not buy any cigarettes or you will have a hoard of people, including John, coming after you.” He hung up. I prepared a basic grocery list, got dressed and grabbed my gun before heading out.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just ugh

I got back with the groceries and put them away. It was about 10:00 and Sherlock had been locked up in his room for hours sleeping. As soon as I was done with the groceries, I went up to his bedroom door and knocked. No answer came from inside so I carefully opened the door to see Sherlock, still fully dressed, face down across the foot of his bed. I stifled a laugh as I pulled off his shoes, and covered him with the open top of the comforter.  
Leaving again, I closed the door as quietly as possible and stood in the kitchen. My stomach grumbled as soon as I remembered how long it had been since I last ate. I stumbled down stairs with my laptop into the café next to the apartment. Speedy’s Sandwich Bar & Café. The bell rang above the door as I entered. I sat at a table next to the window and looked at the menu. I ordered an earl grey tea and a burger. Opening my laptop, I pulled up my last open document and set to work. Crossing out, revising, deleting. It was a constant fury of typing and backspacing everything I just wrote. After approximately three hours, I had finished all my food and was on my third cup of tea. I had also given up. At some point, I couldn’t write anymore. The characters didn’t seem to move as well as they should in character. My fingers remained poised over the keys. I sat there and stared at a screen with only the words “Chapter Six” written at the top. Eventually, my head fell onto the table as I sat there silently trying to figure out any plot or dialogue.   
I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Ma’am? Are you okay?” A calming voice whispered. I regained my composure and sat up.  
“Yes, just a little…” I trailed off. It was the girl from the plane. “Oh! Hello again. You were from the plane, right?”  
A flicker of recognition fell across her face. She smiled wider. “Oh yeah. I honestly didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I didn’t get a chance to thank you. I’m not so good with heights… or flying… or cramped spaces.”  
She was extremely pretty. Eyes that sparkled, a face that was slightly tinted pink with a natural blush, a few freckles dotting her nose. “Thank me?” The words registered finally. “For what?”  
She broke eye contact embarrassed. “For calming me down on the plane? For not pushing me off while I was sleeping? That kinda stuff.”  
“Of course, I would let someone so pretty deal with that fear alone.” I said, immediately whipping my hand over mouth. The pink on her face and I'm sure my face was flushed worse than a tomato. “I am so sorry. I didn't mean to… Oh god… I mean my mouth just runs away sometimes… I'm just gonna...” I slammed my head into my hands on the table.  
She just nodded and ran back into the back. I heard a chorus of ‘awws’ and gathered my stuff. I sprinted back upstairs and bolted into my room.  
That would've been smooth if it was in purpose my brain said as I screamed into a pillow.  
By the time my heart rate had decreased and my blush had gone down, I had screamed and squealed my voice hoarse.  
I opened my laptop. A napkin slipped out, a number and the name “Alex” written on it with a small doodle of a plane next to it. I blushed again and turn on the computer, immediately recieved an email update.

**_“My Lettie,  
I’m glad to hear you got in okay, but I am worried on why you were up so late after such a long flight. A partner in crime you say? How much older? Is John okay with you staying there? Does he trust him? Do you? Besides, what ideas? Alice says that she won’t stop worrying, she says that her “mother-ness” won’t let her. Remember to tell John if you need anything. Also, GO TO SLEEP!!!!  
May I always live to serve your crown,  
Dad”_**  
I laughed. I started on a response instantly.  
 ** _“Dad,_  
He’s like 20 years older. Nothing to worry about. An old friend of John’s, too (I think he has a crush on John that even he doesn’t realize). John is actually the one to suggest me to stay here seeing as Sherlock acts much like an unsupervised child sometimes. Tell Alice to fight me (also I love and miss her lots! I miss you too, don’t worry ;p). Also, I think I may have actually gotten a crush on someone else. Her name, I’m assuming, is Alex. I must have been taking too many lessons from your terrible flirting skills because I’m really bad at doing so. And I was up so late because I didn’t sleep at all so HA! Actually Sherlock is a detective and we went to a crime scene cause he wanted to see the thing I do and I couldn’t go to sleep without figuring some stuff that I was missing out. I wish you could see it here, the food is amazing and it’s so interesting everywhere. Have a good day at work.  
May the gods not smite you,  
Lettie”**  
Satisfied, I sent the email. I continued working on the piece from the café. The characters moved a little more fluidly and the dialogue happened more easily. Something crashed in the kitchen. I moved quickly. I found Sherlock in the living room muttering to the skull that I placed in the cupboards. I silently returned to my bedroom, grabbed the notebook that I use to piece things together, and crept into the chair across from Sherlock’s. When he didn’t notice I was there, I snatched his skull of the mantel. “Talk to me.” I ordered. He looked at me, surprised. “You talking will help you understand while listening and writing will help me see the big picture. So? Talk.”  
He went off. Talking about so many things that connected to the case, ranting about his homeless network, making verbal notes and sometimes going completely silent then butting out, talking a million miles an hour. I sat in the same position, criss-crossed on the chair.


End file.
